


Are You Awake

by dandywarholic



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Eventual Fluff, F/M, M/M, heavily implied relationships, kind of pre established, plot heavy probably wont have much smut if at all, real slow burn, starts in chapter three, why arent there more zombie fics?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-10 00:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandywarholic/pseuds/dandywarholic
Summary: They were only gone for half a day."Stay in Lemoyne." It was a fast scribble. Thick pencil. It was Hosea’s handwriting. He knew it. Even as panicked and rushed it was, he knew that hand.Knew it was about time God decided He was sick of us.





	Are You Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written by a person who has only seen bits and pieces of undead nightmare (only played rdr1 + rdr2) so it is not following really any of that plot, or really referencing it- i just like zombie aus and i really want rockstar to make an undead rdr2 please god if youre there

“This whole thing, with the Grays and these Braithwaites.. Think any of it’s gonna work?” John’s question was firm but his attention distracted. More concentrated on plucking some herbs from the ground.

Arthur shrugged. His back pressed up against the tree they stopped to rest at. “You mean is there any money in it? I have no god damn idea. But Hosea and Dutch think so. And if there’s just that chance…”

“Yeah.” He agreed easily. Seemed spacey though. A little more than usual. He tucked the herbs in his pack and stood up.

“So.” Arthur stepped from the tree. “We’ll just do as we’re told. I’m sure something worthwhile gonna come outta all this. Or it better.”

John’s face was to the sky, squinting up at the clear blue. Was he even listening to him? It didn’t matter. “We should head back.” He said.

Arthur agreed with him on that, walking over to where his horse ate the grass. Cooed for the girl to step some closer, patted her neck, then mounted up. He shifted in the seat and fixed the reigns. John took a slower time, seemed to be caught in thought. He never knew what cooked inside that head. Must be all types of things. Or nothing at all. His best guess was it depending on the time of day. Or alignment of the stars.

They weren’t too far off, maybe a ten minute ride to the camp. They left for something- And to tell you the truth, Arthur doesn't really remember the excuse he cooked up for their return. A supply run that they come back with no supplies? It was more suspicious coming up with reasons to be off with John than it was to just not answer. It wasn't like they were doing anything bad, just would get distracted was all. It couldn't hurt to familiarize with the area. To find leads (despite never even making it to Rhodes.) And Arthur didn't even need to have John Marston accompany him while he did all that, but fuck you. It didn't hurt one thing.

With being off, John and Arthur found how much of the area had gentle hills and soft greenery. Somehow dusty and dry while just a bit further south it felt sickeningly humid. Heard that was a problem for those Grays with those tobacco fields. It’s been a little too dry. As they rode on, the leaves on the Lemoyne trees always fluttered in soft breezes. Those branches, when he inspected them, always twisted in ways that was distinct to down south here. Thought about the tree he had rested on. Then he wondered if he should go and see if there’s any books about them. Bet it had a name. He’s been interested in learning about mushroom plant life, might as well add that to the pile.

As Arthur Morgan thought about foliage it got interrupted by a wagon up ahead. Fallen over with a bloody scene looked to be spilling out of it as much as the clothes that emptied from the bags. Unfortunate. John and Arthur slowed their horses out of sick curiosity. Didn’t look like there were any bodies to see. Might’ve already been cleaned up by the law. Good on them.

“Think that’s from those men you were talking about?”

"The Lemoyne Raiders? Suppose it could be them. Feel like it’s always somebody.”

They kept riding and pulled into the brush. Their horse reins tightened to a light trot. The path became clearer, winding around. First thing Arthur Morgan noticed was there was no one watching guard. First that got him annoyed then it got him concerned.

And when they pulled into camp he figured out why.

An icy chill ran up Arthur's back.

“What in the-“ Arthur hardly managed to get off his horse without falling, immediately arming himself with his sawed off. John was right next to him. The entire scene stupefying them.

“What the hell happened!?” John’s voice was loud and raspy. He wanted to know the same god damn thing.

The site was a mess! The tents knocked over yet barren! Most of the wagons? Gone. Two dead horses and too many dead bodies littered the ground. Arthur and John immediately smelled it: foul death. First thing that came to mind were the Pinkertons, it surged an anger in them. They had just moved for Christ sake.

John decided now that it wasn’t a trap, and even if it was, they both knew they could kill whoever did this. Hell, they wanted it to be a trap just so they could have the satisfaction of making them scream for touching their family.

“HEY! It’s John and Arthur! Anybody there!?” The dead bodies were the first thing they checked. Pushing them over, checking them for any familiar clothing or signs of their friends. Most of their heads were blown off which made it difficult. “Dutch!?” John yelled out again. Arthur saw the man’s panic start to really kick in as he started looking through everything. “Abigail!? Jack!”

The bodies, when looking them over, were weird, oddly decayed. Decrepit. Ghastly. Dead for too long. And even more unsettling was that those weren't even the most concerning ones. There were corpses that were soaked to the bone in water. Bloated, greenish, would even describe it as rubbery. Clothes torn. Appendages broken in crude ways. They had no business being twenty feet from the lake and they certainly had no business being in the middle of the camp. They weren't Pinkertons. They were women, young men, young women, farmers. People who would never be enemies. It didn't make sense.

Arthur tried to search every body, tried to know if every one of his friends weren’t here. He heard John come up to him without having to look up.

“I don’t think they’re here- Something- I don’t..” He quieted himself when he looked to what Arthur found. A woman, seemingly in a fine dress. Soft colors. It reminded them both of someone they knew. The long brown hair. Feminine form. Arthur turned her over carefully but it wasn’t helpful. The woman’s face was blown off and he had to look away for a moment. Dread filled him, sadness second. His hands were even a little unsteady as he fixed her poor body. He was so numb to seeing dead butchered bodies but this got him. Oh, Marybeth. One of the kindest souls he knew. Even despite all the bad they did, he knew she’d be the one that’d still get into those golden gates. John cursed under his breath and crouched down next to him. They sat in silence for a second or two, mourning her.

Then John spoke, oddly uplifted. “Hold on. That ain’t her. That ain’t Marybeth, Arthur.”

Arthur set her arm down. “I don’t have time for silly optimism, Marston.”

“No, listen to me. It can’t be her. She- Her- Uh.” He was trying to get something out which became more and more annoying as John choked on his thoughts. “They ain’t- Well,” He motioned to his own chest, referencing her, uhm. Arthur finally caught on. So, there they were, inspecting a poor dead woman’s bosom. Noticeably less voluptuous than they oughta be.

“Oh.”

They both exhaled all at once. Both chuckled softly, not even from the humor, but from the sheer relief. Arthur could not be more thankful for Marybeth’s unique bust. Yet, it didn’t answer where she was. Or if she was okay. But she wasn’t lying here with her head blown off.

Back on their feet, there really wasn’t much else left they could investigate so Arthur went to his lean-to so he could grab some of his sentimentals. 

John, who had none, wasn’t kind to that idea. “Morgan! We’ve gotta go! If we move now we might be able to catch up with them!” 

“Just gimme a minute.” He said under his breath, grabbing his mother’s picture, picture of Copper, picture of him, Dutch, and Hosea, and.. A note. He opened it up immediately.

“Arthur! Let’s go!” His hoarse voice was getting on his nerves. 

It was a fast scribble. Thick pencil. It was Hosea’s handwriting. He knew it. Even as panicked and rushed it was, he knew that hand. 

“ _Arthur!”_ John yelled again from where he stood near the horses waiting for him. Arthur finally listened, turning from his tent and folded the note back in half.

“Found something, Marston.”

That got John a little less annoyed with his leisurely pace. 

“What is it?” 

“Hosea left a note.” He passed it to him without looking and went to his horse. Heard John mumble his confusion as he read it because it really wasn’t _completely_ helpful. It also meant the gang didn’t have a plan when they left. Something scared them so terribly they couldn’t even give Grimshaw and Pearson enough time to pack everything up. Even in Blackwater they had managed to scrape their camp cleaner than this. Nothing here made sense and it scared Arthur to hell and back. 

They were finally about to mount up and get going when they heard some groaning. John heard it first. Arthur heard it second. They turned to look where it came from, looked to each other, then walked to find the noise. It sounded gravelly. Gargled. Like it was coming from the middle of camp.

It was a bit of a competition between them on who could find them first so they could tear into them. Or at least find answers.

They mostly regretted it. It was indeed a man who stood up but it was a man who shouldn’t have. His body look torn to bits. Bullet holes in his chest and his arms looked chewed through. Blood all over his mouth. Sickly. A plagued man. 

John shot him twice without hesitation in either shoulder and knocked the man back. He didn’t scream! He didn’t scream. Arthur ran over and took his sawed off and hit the man across the side of the head to knock it farther off balance. _Fall, god damn it._

“Who are you!?” He asked strongly. His intimidation and rage filled his voice. Hiding his fear.

The man didn’t answer. And as he hissed and recovered with trouble Arthur saw the man’s face caved in from the hit. Like his skull got broken in. Arthur hit him hard, sure, but that’s not normal. 

“Jesus.”

There was another hiss and John yelled out suddenly. Arthur looked back to him and the dead lady at his feet started grabbing for him. _Dead lady._ He watched as John shot the woman a couple times in an uncalculated panic. When Arthur looked back to the man he had been dealing with- He was a moron for turning his back on it- It was grabbing for him. He didn’t even know when it got that close. Its grip sudden and immediately painful. He growled out and tried pulling himself from it, yet the monster had a sick determination to grab at him. He didn’t want to find out why. He shot it in the face and shoved it away as fast as he could. 

“Are you okay!?” John asked from where he stood. 

“I think so.” Arthur held his arm, inspecting at the gash from those hellish fingers. Wasn’t deep. He's had worse, but god damn. “You alright?”

“Alright as I can be. Was thinking it was those Braithewaite’s doing, but now I ain’t so sure. With being attacked by a rotten corpse and all.”

Arthur nodded as he looked at the dead bodies then decided he had enough of being around these things.

They walked quickly to their horses and mounted up. They heard more moaning but this time they didn’t stick around to find out who it was coming from.

They rode hard and fast, getting on the road. But very quickly he didn’t know where they were going. Where would they be? Where would they run to? Where was safety? When he looked to John the man was just as determined as he was. And even though Arthur considered every single one of them his family, people he would die protecting, John had more to lose than he did. He had Abigail, he had Jack. Arthur understood that fear more than anybody.

“'Stay in Lemoyne'?" John quoted to Arthur. 

Arthur exhaled as they just followed the path to really anywhere.

"What does that mean?" John asked aloud again. Like Arthur would somehow know.

"I'm sure they figured someplace out. They always do."

"What were those things back there?" John asked again. Like Arthur would, again, somehow know.

Arthur went to say something witty, maybe to say something stupid, something smart. He ended up not saying anything at all.

Unlike twenty minutes before, when all they heard was gentle breezes and birds, now they overheard screaming as they ran through. Distant. Heard plenty of shooting off to the east of them, sounding like Rhodes. That was a terrible sign. Then there was a closer scream coming up from ahead. 

They slowed down their horses as they saw a man riding fast as the damn wind coming their way. Looked like he just saw the devil himself.

“ **_RUN!! HELL IS COMING TO GET ME! CYNTHIA I’M SO SORRY!_ ** ” The man screamed as he passed them. 

They looked to each other and their horses neighed in worry. They could feel their rider’s anxiety. Knew something was wrong just as they did. The smart thing would be to run after that man, the dumber thing would be ride in the opposite direction to check out what he was running from. 

John and him did the dumber thing and they found exactly what the smart thing would have prevented them from seeing. 

Rotting men and women walking after him, some running, some crawling. Wasn’t a ton of people. Maybe fifteen to twenty. Saw lawmen garb. Saw farmers. Saw Lemoyne Raiders. Even from where they were they could see the blood and rot on the being's bodies. Some seemed fresher than others. Their gaits limp and unsteady, yet unrelenting. A small hoard of weird dead. 

“Christ.” He heard John say. 

Arthur pulled his rifle over his shoulder and took in a sharp breath. The running ones were the first to go. John immediately helped, following Arthur’s lead. It wasn't difficult.

“Hey, at least they ain’t shootin’ back.” Arthur mentioned. 

John nodded but his attention focused on the things. “They ain’t dying though. Not all of ‘em. Look.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. His horse trotted in place, antsy as he looked at the dead 'Whatevers.' He was right. The ones he just took down struggled but got back to fighting on. And this small hoard kept slowly approaching. At least the bullets seemed to slow them down to an extent. None of them standing anymore, all just crawling. They had plenty enough space between them and them to not be real worried. 

“The hell are these things?”

“Guessin' justice for all the no good we've done, but right now? Don't really feel like wasting any more bullets on them.” Arthur exhaled.

John nodded, opening his revolver and reloading his gun. Snapped it shut, spun the cylinder and holstered it. 

“Do you think-Ah shit!“ John started before a monster-like man grabbed at his leg from the side. He yelled out and kicked it off himself before it could get a good hold but it startled the horse to hell and back. Enough to buck its rider off and run the hell out there to leave John to have the wind knocked out of him.

“Marston!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed his gun and shot the thing as it started to crawl on him. He put four bullets into it then an extra two for good measure. John kicked the corpse off himself with a groan. There were more crawling. Running from their flank. Arthur hadn't even noticed. How in the hell did he not notice? John scrambled to his feet and shot a couple nearing him. His horse, however, was already off five feet off and didn’t plan on sticking around. 

“Marston, get on!” He motioned for him and John didn’t hesitate, running to him and sitting himself up behind him. Arthur snapped the reigns and yelled to get going and the horse was just as excited as he was. 

John whistled for Old Boy to follow and Arthur looked behind himself to see the horse listen. Scared and all, it was still loyal.

“Come on, boy!” John yelled to him. “Come on, let’s go!” 

It started to really pick up it’s pace and avoid the menaces trying to grab for it. John took the initiative to be the gun, snagging the Litchfield Repeater from Arthur’s horse and shooting any monster he saw. They were slow, sure, but God there were a lot of them. 

Arthur wondered if this was the best way to keep going. Made him feel a lot better having John so close. Solid and confirmed, fully in control of that man’s safety. And by God if a single thing happened to him… Arthur would send every single one of these bastards straight back to where they came from.

When they were away from the hoard, the two of them eased a little bit. Enough to Arthur to slow down his horse and pat her.

“ _That’s_ a good girl.” Leaned over to give a couple rubs on her neck. She huffed a breath and gave a small neigh.

He felt John shift a little behind him and fix his hold on his sides. He didn’t realize how tight he had been holding him until the pressure stopped.

“How ‘bout you stick on my horse for a bit, Marston. Just for now.” 

“Okay.” He agreed easily, just like he usually did. 

“I doubt they’re in Rhodes, but we should _probably_ check if anyone knows what the hell is going on.” 

John nodded behind him and Arthur sent his girl into a faster gallop. “Good time to pick up some ammo.” 

That was a great idea. “With the two of us it’ll make a full brain, won’t it.” He paused, “Er, three quarters a one.”

“Insinuating you’ve got the quarter, right?” He tried to combat.

Arthur shrugged. “The five eighths.”

John stalled for a second. “I don’t remember how much that means.” 

“Means more than you.”

“Out of everyone, I really had to get stuck with you, didn’t I?” He heard John huff.

"And who's fault is that?"

Their little argument stopped when Arthur slowed to pass by a farmer on the side of the road. The man's back to the two of them and crouching over a dead body. Must've lost someone dear. God, Arthur was so lost on what was happening around here.

“Hey!” John yelled from his seat. “I’d get away from that body, Mister!”

Arthur pulled his horse to a stop, about to say something witty but the man turned to face them. Face and hands covered in blood. Noticed the body under him had her organs ripped open and gutted. The thing groaned at them, struggled to their direction.

“Oh, come on.” Arthur grunted.

John pulled the Litchfield and put three bullets into it. Chest twice and head last. It dropped hard. The two of them had no idea if it’d get back up though and Arthur snapped the reigns. 

“That man was eating his wife, Arthur Morgan.” 

“I’m sure he wasn’t eating his damn wife, John.” 

“Then what the hell did it look like to you?” 

“It coulda been his sister.” 

John frowned. 

“I’m sure there’s some rational explanation on why that man was finding a feast on that poor woman’s stomach.” Arthur added.

“And what would that rational explanation for those dead people chasing us be?” 

Arthur had a delayed response. “Rabies.” 

“And you always say I’m the idiot.” 

The gunshots only got louder as they approached the town. The place wasn’t huge but it was populated. If they were to get answers they would get them here. 

“We should leave our horses here.” And he pulled over to the field right outside the town. The gunfire a lot louder now. Heard growling. Heard screaming. The two of them got off the horse and looked at Rhodes. It was starting to reach dusk which was not a good sign. They couldn’t stay here long. 

“What’s the plan?” John asked. Old Boy approached his owner and John comforted him, gave him a couple pats. Pulled his own rifle off of his horse and offered Arthur’s back to him. He took it kindly.

“You head to the gunsmith and get what you can. Rob ‘em if you have to. I’m gonna go see the Sheriff and see if he knows what the hell is going on. If I’m done early, I’ll meet you. If you’re done early, meet me. And if it gets bad, I want you to _run._ ”

John looked to the town. Crackling, growling, screaming. 

“Well, lets just hope it doesn’t come to that, huh.” He fixed the hat on his head and armed himself with his rifle. 

The town was a mess. They were met with more of those things. They crawled, they chased, they tore at their fellow civilians necks, crunching hard as the civilian cried under their jaws. Saw people jumping out of windows to their deaths just to flee. It was a sight Arthur’s definitely never seen. These _were_ humans, at some point at least. He’s heard stories of the dead waking up, but it was of course just some bogus so-called witches told. He didn’t hear it from witches- He heard it from people who had friends who talked to strangers who talked to witches. Muddled bullshit. Yet this was real. This was right in front of him.

“To tell you the truth, Marston.” He addressed, looking at the town, half lit up in flames with growling dead chewing on the living, “I really don’t see a difference.” 

John shrugged. “Think this might be an improvement, Mister Deputy Morgan.”

Arthur laughed as he cocked his shotgun and blew away the monster running for him. “I actually forgot about that. Guess I should go Deputize.” They chuckled together, finding at least some humor in this horror they’ve found themselves in.

They were Dutch’s boys. Trained killers and the gang’s best gunmen. No matter their relationship, rough or calm, they've always been able to trust each other's marksmanship. Practically unrivaled, the two of them. Arguably the only thing going for them. Other than their dry wit and idiotic tendencies.

These things, however, proved to be a real pain in the ass. Even with their talent and skill, they were incredibly annoying to down. Like it took three times the bullets for each one. Arthur aimed for their legs first to topple them. Then the face. That, he found, was incredibly effective. John found a similar sort of strategy of his own. Then they both quickly realized that they could save two bullets by just shooting their faces off. Though no matter their approach, shooting was loud and it felt louder as the town seemed to get more and more sparse of living humans. Less gunshots, less screaming, more groaning and growling. Even with how good they were there were so many, and they seemed to love the noise of gunfire. It forced plenty of times when they ended up way to close and Arthur had to pry them off of himself while they chomped their teeth at the air. Nasty fuckers.

Rhodes was a small town. A small town. Yet it seemed like it took forever to get through. Arthur noticed some looked fresher than others. Some blood covered, some oozing foul liquids. Either way they smelled wretched. The church seemed to be pouring them out, but he also saw some crawl from the edges of town. 

"Mrs. Claypole!? I'll get your necklace back! I swear- I swear it was a mistake!" That familiar yell got Arthur to stumble to a stop. John didn't wait, just looking back at him as he made it to his destination. Arthur stepped over and kicked a dead man out of the way so he could take some steps towards the church. The church with a graveyard, where, you know. Dead things reside? But, he's pretty sure he knew the kid. 

He was young, scrawny. Brown hair. Terrified. Five seconds from getting his throat tore out. 

" _Hey!"_ Arthur yelled out. The dead were swarming the poor young man and he got to look into the boys eyes. Remembered his name now. Gwyn.. Gwyn something. It didn't matter. He was that debtor he had to scare a week back. Unfortunately his situation held a certain fortuity. That a boy who built coffins was having his 

The boy yelled out and Arthur was forced to watch a withered corpse take a bite into his neck. It made a sick squelching noise. Tore flesh that immediately got the boy to start choking on his own blood. Arthur shot her twice in the head. The whole situation was 3 seconds and even if Arthur was faster it would have ended the same way. 

"Ah, god damn it."

The boy dropped with the woman, still gargling on his blood. Arthur had to step back a bit, watching as the graveyard dead started to swarm him while the boy was still alive. 

Hell was really here. It didn't seem to be merciful. They needed to get out of here.

The Sheriff's office was oddly daunting. It hadn’t felt that way before. Maybe it was the darkness falling over the town, or the rotten smell of danger that lay inside. The growling of the town louder than the screaming, leaving Arthur unsettled. Wondered how many people were alive now. Really alive.

There was a second of hesitation with his hand on the sheriffs doorknob. His sawed off in his off hand. It was as if his body was shouting no. A wrongness on the other side of this door. Arthur let go of the handle and stepped back instead. Went for a different approach. That was kicking the door open with a loud slam. 

“Sheriff Gray!” He yelled out.

The scene inside was gruesome and he heard a scream immediately shout from the prison cell. Arthur couldn’t concentrate on that. You know. With a bloody floor with two men with their guts ripped out. A man hunched over on of them and covered in blood, chewing on an intestine by the looks of it. His teeth bared and immediately looked to Arthur Morgan. You know, since he just yelled out. 

“Holy shit.” He coughed out. The smell of blood and rotting flesh already hitting him. Jesus. 

“That ain’t sheriff Gray!” The man in the cell cried out and Arthur flicked his attention to him. Was that Deputy MacGregor in there? Fuck.

“Sheriff Gray?” He now asked. Noticed the clothes on the bastard. Fit the sheriff's description except for covered and blood. The man's unsettling blond hair stained and eyes red and bloodshot. 

“Not any more at least!” MacGregor added.

Arthur’s peculiar hypothesis became a solid theory; That these really used to be humans. That just this morning they were that incestuous, bigoted bastards. Idiots. And that if someone were to die they would reanimate. Oh and they were real hungry, he guessed.

“Sorry to do this, Sheriff.” He was not sorry to do this. He aimed his sawed off to the used-to-be Gray and shot him twice. 

He approached the monster carefully, narrowing his eyes. It… looked to be dead. Arthur put another shell into him just in case then reached down and plucked the Sheriff’s badge from his body. Pocketed it.

Okay. He turned to the cell and the poor man inside. It was the Deputy alright. Bloodied and trembling in fear. Cowardly. Held his arm close to his chest and he was dripping with sweat. Looked pale. Either from blood loss or fear alone.

“Now, why are you in there?” Arthur asked simply.

“Well-“ The man started. “They started coming. Sheriff held them off- I helped- They just was everywhere! And- And we got overwhelmed. There was no way. They enclosed in on us. They got him! They. Oh god, they got him. I locked myself up in here. I know it was cowardly. I know.” 

He sobbed out a little. “I saw Sheriff’s body get up. I saw him struggle. I thought- I thought he was alive so I left to go help him! And he- He attacked me good. He took a full chunk a my arm!” He held his arm tighter. Noticed the blood just soaking the man’s shirt. His eyes sunken in a bit, blue around some edges.

Arthur stepped closer to the bars, looking over the Deputy. Absolute disgust and disappointment overcame him. “You mean, you’re telling me.. While the townsfolk was out there chewing each other to pieces, you were in here _COWERING!?”_

“I was SCARED!! You wasn’t here!” 

“Yer the damn Deputy!!” Arthur huffed. “ _Jesus!”_

There was some shooting outside then John came in. Arthur was awfully glad to see his face. “Morgan, we gotta go. It’s gettin’ hard to see a thing. And it seems like they’re gettin’ more aggressive.” 

Arthur nodded. He then motioned for the Deputy to step on out. “C’mon, sir. You can come with us. Though I don’t see why. Letting the rest of those poor bastards to die as you curled up in here.” 

“It wasn’t like that!” 

“Oh, you’re right. A serious deputy like yourself would always be helpin’ the civilians. And I guess you consider yourself a _really_ important civilian, don’t you. Just get out here!” And with Arthur’s relentless intimidation MacGregor finally listened. Shakily unlocking himself and exiting his little sanctuary.

John looked a little concerned. “We bringin' him?" 

“Might as well.” 

Marston didn’t argue with his decision. Just wanted to get out of here. Figured they’d talk about what to do with him later. 

“Damn.” John looked to that bloody scene next, the damn thing spread across the office floor. Arthur pushed him out the door and got him moving. He didn’t get a complaint. 

“Now, Mister Deputy." Arthur started, "We have seemed to have lost our friends- You remember Deputy Williamson and, er, a Hoagy Macintosh?” Arthur said, looking around them. Dead were still absently crawling towards them, stumbling. Their expressions a little more monster-like it seemed. Seething and agitated. Chilling. Arthur and John hesitated to cause a ruckus. Guns were loud and the dark, even with the illumination from the fires in the town, would not help their escape.

“Yessir.” 

“They come through here?” 

MacGregor seemed to think, but he was clearly on the verge of passing out. His thoughts a bit delayed. “No. No, I don’t think so.” 

Great. So they hadn't come through here. Check that off their list of the large state. Would think they'd have maybe have a scout check or something. Anything.

"Deputy, you know, as a junior Deputy for the town of Rhodes, I must say you're a fucking pain in my ass." 

"Excuse me?" He laughed out in surprise. His voice vibrating with the rest of his body. "I- Mister Callahan. Dead rising or not- I'm still yer.. I'm still yer.." He started to fall and John was close enough to catch him and force him to stand back up. 

"Woah there, pardner. Easy now." John said as he tried to straighten him out. Arthur didn't like the chance of the Deputy dying and John being the closest one to him. He didn't like that one bit. He actually sort of regretted promising to bring him along. Kind of had the urge to just kill him. 

His morality itching at the back of his mind, it getting tested here. The good thing would be to fix the man up and bring him with on the chance he'd survive, but that would risk John's throat being bit out, wouldn’t it? However shooting him now would mean he'd just be killing an innocent man. He did value John’s life over this man though. Arthur wondered what Charles first instinct would be. John didn't seem exactly worried neither. He wasn’t sure if it was just from his stupidity or his concern. Arthur exhaled.

"We've gotta go, Arthur. I don't think this mans got too much time left in him if we don't ."

"I see that, Marston." Arthur snipped at him. 

The dead started to encircle them and Arthur grabbed onto the Deputy and got them going. With the dead finding intense interest in them- Despite the screaming and fire still hearing the background- They weren’t quite sure what approach they should take. To the open fields is where. It was an instant consensus as they both headed to behind the sheriff's. The open field beckoning them from their crowded, dangerous town. A town that really wasn't usually as filled with people as much as it was here tonight. And now Arthur guessed it was going to be filled with no people from now on. What an interesting development.

Good riddance.

There was only one dead-thing that came dangerously close to them, and instead of shooting him and attracting more, Arthur once again chose to smack it across the face with his sawed off. Grabbed _it_ by the collar and shoved it to the ground. Grabbed it's skull, even despite it wanton biting, and slammed it's skull into the ground. Heard the disgusting crunch of bone breaking and the monster grabbing for him stilled. It's blood and ooze ended up giving him a nice spritz and he quickly wiped it off with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. Fucking disgusting. 

John hadn't waited for him. Already helped the Deputy over the fence and saw him kick an undead off like it was ball. The man's entire weight with it and heard him grunt. Then he got to see him leave the Deputy just to smash the thing's brains in with his boot. His distinct raspy yells heard from even where Arthur stood. 

Arthur didn't loiter, instantly jogging and jumping over the fence to catch up with them.

"How's he holding?" Arthur motioned towards the Deputy, who John had gotten back to help walk.

"'M alright. I'm.. I'm fine." 

John just shrugged and pushed the man further. "His wounds gotta be infected by now- And I'm damn surprised he hasn't passed out from the-" And even before John could finish that sentence the Deputy lost his footing and dropped to the ground. John went to lean down and help him up but Arthur stopped him. Dragged him back and stepped in front. Thought John would fight him on that too, but he didn't. Because Arthur was right.

Deputy MacGregor started groaning in pain, or at least it sounded like it. His body curling in on itself and then he got to his knees. Arthur wanted to shoot him there, take out the risk. Yet, there was a curiosity. To see how a newly birthed- _thing_ looked like. And it was weird. Frightening in a way no blood or gore has ever chilled him.

Two gunshots got Arthur to tense up- Truly not expecting it. And the Deputy was sent back to the ground. Arthur looked over, John, as shadowed as he looked in the dark, was breathing slow. Holstered his revolver. Arthur didn't judge him. Didn't scold him. Didn't praise him. John didn't need him to. 

Instead, Arthur went over to the now dead redead Deputy and pushed him over. Didn't look particularly special. Just a man with his brain blown out. Arthur snatched the badge that stayed pinned on his shirt. 

"What are you doin'?" John asked. Heard him take a couple steps and Arthur stood back up. 

He reached into his pocket and pinned the Sheriff's badge onto himself. Tossed his old Deputy badge- For whatever garbage that was worth. "C'mere." 

The other man huffed something of a snicker, shook his head. "Why?" 

"'Cause I said so." He drawled it, motioned him over. John finally listened. 

Arthur grabbed ahold of his jacket and stuck the Deputy badge on it. 

"As the sitting Sheriff, I dub you, John Marston, as the new right hand Deputy of the city of Rhodes." Arthur was somehow able to keep the amusement from his voice, sturdy and firm.

John didn't laugh, instead taking Arthur's hand in his. "This is.. A real honor, Sheriff Morgan. Thank you." 

They shouldn't have been laughing, oh but they were. Everything was in shambles, and they held the highest status of that shit town. Because they were pretty sure they were the only ones that had entered alive and left that way too. 

Arthur whistled for his horse. John whistled second. Kept on walking away from the chaos and into the field.

"How'd you get on?" Arthur asked plainly. Reached into his satchel to pull out a smoke, offered one to John and they leaned in together to light them both. 

John spoke with the cigarette between his lips, "Like shit," He exhaled smoke with his sigh, "Looks like it'd been looted before I got there. Got a pack a pistol ammo, but that's 'bout it. Was curious about goin' into that basement, but there was slammin' at the door and," John took a drag, "I really wasn't into findin' out what kinda hell lie behind it." 

"Ah, bein' smart for once, huh?" 

John shrugged. "Think that's where that so called luck you haved deemed a me is derived from, Morgan." 

Morgan shook his head, the only thing keeping him from laughing was the long drag of his cigarette. He flicked it into the grass after his exhale. "N'aw."

"Yes."

"Oh, I could go on and on about the stupid situations you got yourself into and luck alone has pulled you from the water. Don't tell me you don't remember the time you tried to pull one over on the mayor of that-" 

"Alright I get it. I get it." He was saved by the horses. They trotted up in good condition. Their heads shaking and the two of them whinnying. They each took their time on their respected horses to coo at them. Calm them down. Pet them. Purr soft words to get them to ease.

John had taken less time than Arthur did. Always was impatient.

They, ultimately, were back to square one. 

_Stay in Lemoyne_

It read. 

Stay in Lemoyne. 

Arthur thought of a place they could be hiding out in, but it was risky. He wasn't sure about it. Lenny and him managed to scope it out- That house with them Lemoyne Raiders. It was worth a look. He had no interest in searching through the night. It spelled Danger, with a capital D. If they were to be smart, and better yet: _alive,_ they had to find somewhere to camp out. 

"Let's reach an open field to camp. Don't know if it'd be smart to be in the woods in a time like this." Arthur shouted over to John. John only nodded. 

They rode until they found a solid clearing, good as any, and slowed their horses down. The amount of dead was sparse, but on there way here they did see a wagon pass them without drivers. Horses without riders. John and Arthur tried to ignore it. Didn't comment on it. Would rather try to shove it under their boots. Setting up a tent and their bedrolls in an open field was bad enough. And they had both agreed on not starting a fire. Couldn't risk attracting anything to them, human or otherwise. 

John sat close to Arthur. 

"You should get some sleep." Morgan offered to him. 

John didn't reply for a moment or two, his gaze up at the stars. "Don't think I'd be able to if I tried. But you're free to."

"Can't. Is why I offered it to you." 

"Then I guess we'll just have to enjoy the fact that we're both breathin' and there's a sky above us with a moon that ain't fallin'." 

"Guess so." 

"We'll find them tomorrow, John." Arthur leaned his shoulder against his. The smallest amount of comfort and affection- The only he knew John would probably accept right now.

The younger man nodded. "I know we will." 

They both didn't know if they would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and thank you for reading please suggest horse names for arthurs horse idk what to name her


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